One Wish (5 page)

‘Well, I know the tooth fairy is a lie.’ She swatted a bug from her face. ‘It stole every single one of my teeth and I never got a penny in return, just any disgusting rubbish it had picked up from the street.’ She shuddered. ‘It once left a chewed-up toffee that someone had spat out. I woke up with it stuck to my cheek.’

Ratty began to chuckle, then quickly turned it into a cough as she gave him a stony look. ‘I was once told that the teeth are supposed to be ground into fairy forks and knives,’ he said. ‘But I think that’s just a rumour, probably started by the fairies themselves to get parents to believe it. The truth is, you should never let a fairy have any of your teeth.’

‘Why not?’ Tanya asked.

‘I’ll explain later,’ Ratty said mysteriously. ‘Go on.’

‘They put spells on my hairbrush all the time. It either puts tangles in my hair or makes it stand on end, like a hedgehog—’

Ratty nodded in agreement and pointed to his hair. ‘That’s why I don’t bother combing mine very often.’

‘They change my homework answers to ones that are wrong,’ Tanya continued. ‘That’s one of their favourites – I have to check everything twice or even three times. What else . . .? They put a spell on a jam tart that I ate so that all I could say afterwards was “jam tart”, until all the other jam tarts had been eaten, which was a whole day later. My father was so cross. And don’t even get me started on the ones that live at my grandmother’s house.’ She sighed, her mood worsening. ‘Which reminds me, there’s something lurking under the floorboards at the holiday cottage we’re staying in. I couldn’t get a proper look at it, but, from what I saw, it’s a really nasty one – it threatened to stamp out my eyes while I was asleep.’

Ratty frowned. ‘What did you do to it?’

‘Nothing,’ said Tanya. ‘We’d only just arrived at the cottage. We hadn’t had time to do anything to upset it, but it was complaining about humans coming every summer with their noise and their mess. I don’t think it would matter who we were, but the fact that I can see it definitely hasn’t helped.’

‘You didn’t argue with it, did you?’ Ratty asked.

Tanya felt sheepish. ‘I might have threatened to stamp on it . . . but only after it was horrible to me first.’

‘That wasn’t a good idea.’ Ratty scratched his chin. ‘All the other things you’ve said, about the homework and the hairbrush . . . those sorts of things are just mischief really. Fairly harmless compared to what some fairies are willing to do to humans. I’d be careful with that one.’

‘How am I supposed to be careful?’ she grumbled. ‘When it’s there, taunting me for no reason?’

‘I’ll get to that in a minute,’ Ratty replied. ‘I want to talk about the other fairies first. Are they always the same ones you see or different?’

‘The same,’ said Tanya. ‘I mean, I see others sometimes, too, outside of the house, but we live in London and there don’t seem to be many fairies in the city. Except the ones that come to my house.’

‘So the ones in your house, the ones that cause the mischief . . . do they do it for no reason?’

‘No,’ said Tanya. ‘It’s always a punishment for something I’ve done, like writing in my diary about them, or trying to tell my parents that they
do
exist, not that they’ve ever believed me. Once, when I collected frogspawn in a jar for a project at school, they turned it all into frogs overnight. They were hopping about all over the classroom, in bags and lunch boxes – it was awful. Another time I picked some bluebells from the garden and for some reason they got angry about that, too. They turned my face and hands bright blue. Said I had no business stealing them.
Stealing!
When they were in
my
garden.’

Ratty nodded seriously. ‘They can be protective over plants and wildlife. Some plants are known as fairy plants: primroses, foxgloves, bluebells, elder. Stay away from them. Fairies don’t like humans meddling with nature, or telling other humans about their existence.’

‘There are four of them,’ said Tanya. ‘They’ve visited me ever since I was little, as far back as I can remember.’

‘Four?’ Ratty’s eyebrows shot up into his messy hair. ‘Most people only get one, like me with Turpin here.’ He shrugged. ‘Still, it’s not unheard of to have more than one. Some fairies work in clans.’

‘What do you mean, most people only get one?’ Tanya asked. ‘One what?’

‘One guardian,’ said Ratty. ‘Everyone born with the second sight gets one. They’re supposed to protect us.’

‘Protect us?’ Tanya snorted. ‘All they seem to want to do is torment me. What exactly are they supposed to be protecting us from?’

‘I’m not really sure. Other fairies, I suppose. My pa knows a lot about them. More than he tells me.’

‘Your father sees fairies, too?’ Tanya asked. She felt envious, wishing she had had someone to share her ability with as she’d grown up. ‘What’s he like?’ She couldn’t imagine speaking to an adult about fairies, or at least not to an adult who believed her.

‘He’s . . .’ A small crease appeared between Ratty’s eyebrows. ‘He’s a bit odd, I suppose,’ he said at last. ‘Most people seem to think so anyway. I’m used to him and his ways. You’ll probably get to meet him later, if he’s home.’ His voice sounded strange, and Tanya wondered if perhaps he did not want to show her where he lived. Ratty’s clothes, now that she was up close to him, were very worn in places and repaired with patches in others. Perhaps they didn’t have much money.

‘What about your mother?’ she asked.

‘Ma died when I was little.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘I don’t really remember her,’ said Ratty.

‘So, where exactly is home?’ Tanya asked, eager to change the subject. ‘It feels like we’ve been walking forever.’ She noticed that Turpin, still balanced on Ratty’s shoulder, seemed restless and was drumming a beat on the top of his head with her hands.

‘Not far now. We need to cross the river and then it’s just a little way over the meadow.’ He reached up and batted Turpin’s hands away. ‘Stop it, you pest.’

Turpin obeyed, but sneaked another strand of Ratty’s hair into her mouth and began to chew it.

‘She seems quite . . . tame,’ Tanya said tentatively. ‘Does she ever cause trouble?’

‘Not really,’ said Ratty. ‘She probably would, if she had any magic left—’

‘She doesn’t have magic?’ Tanya interrupted.

‘Not any more. Pa says she used to before the attack, but ever since then she’s never used magic.’

‘What attacked her?’ Tanya asked, eyeing Turpin. ‘Is that what happened to her wing?’

Ratty nodded. ‘We don’t know what it was, but Pa says it must have been an animal. A cat or a fox perhaps. I don’t remember it happening, I was too young. Whatever it was, it almost killed her.’

‘Poor thing,’ Tanya murmured. Turpin’s response was to stick out her tongue. She clearly didn’t think much of Tanya or want her sympathy.

‘Almost there,’ said Ratty, motioning up ahead. They had reached the edge of the field now, and thankfully this time there was no stile to climb over, but a gate instead. Once they were through it and had fastened the bolt on the other side, a thin, shimmering silver ribbon of water divided the field into two, vanishing across the horizon. A wooden bridge arched over it and Ratty led her towards it.

‘There’s the castle,’ Tanya said in surprise. ‘We’re on the other side of it.’

‘This is the side where the main entrance is,’ Ratty explained. ‘And most of the parts that are open. The dungeons and some of the towers are in ruins. They’re not open to the public.’

He slowed down as they reached the river. Close up, it no longer appeared silver, but a vibrant green. Tanya peered into it, but there was no way of telling how deep it went. Long, green weeds swayed softly as the water rippled. A yellow sign nearby, however, warned of the undertow and forbade anyone to swim. Stuck to it was a missing persons’ poster with a picture of a smiling young girl, probably aged eight or nine. It was yellowed and tattered around the edges, like it had been there for some time.

‘Someone went missing here?’

‘Lots of people,’ Ratty said quietly. ‘People on holiday usually. Mostly children.’

‘How horrible,’ she said.

‘Doesn’t look dangerous, does it?’

‘Not at all,’ Tanya agreed. She gazed at the water, longing to take her shoes off and dip her toes in. It was such a warm day and the walk through the fields had made her skin sticky. ‘It looks peaceful.’

‘Yes, it does,’ Ratty agreed. ‘And there’s not really an undertow here, you know. That’s further up.’

‘I suppose they try to stop people going in anyway, in case they swim to where the undertow is,’ said Tanya. ‘But couldn’t we just sit at the edge and put our feet in the water?’

‘We could, but it wouldn’t end well,’ said Ratty.

She stared at him, confused. ‘But I thought you said . . .?’

‘I said there’s no undertow,’ Ratty answered. ‘I didn’t say it was safe.’

The hairs on the back of Tanya’s neck stood on end. ‘Why? What’s in there?’

Ratty lifted Turpin from his shoulders and placed her on the ground. Then he picked up a pebble and threw it into the water. It landed with a heavy splash.

‘That should wake her up,’ he muttered.

‘Wake who up?’ Tanya scanned the surface of the water, but could only see the widening ripples. ‘What are you doing?’

He reached into his pocket and pulled out several objects: a few small packets of salt, like the kind found in cafés, and a selection of rusty nails. He handed Tanya a couple of the packets and one of the nails.

‘Here. Put these in your pockets.’

Tanya began to wonder whether Ratty was suffering from sunstroke. ‘What on earth for?’ she asked.

‘They’ll protect you.’

‘Are you feeling . . . all right?’ she asked.

‘I’m fine,’ Ratty snapped. ‘Now stay back and watch.’ He grabbed two chunky sticks from nearby and knelt by the riverside. Oberon gave an excitable yap and began capering about, waiting for the game to begin.

‘He thinks you’re going to throw the sticks for him,’ Tanya explained.

‘Don’t let him chase them, whatever you do,’ Ratty said. ‘Put him on the leash.’

She did so, holding on tightly. Ratty nodded and then plunged the sticks into the water, moving them in small circles and making little splashes. A bit, Tanya thought, like two small legs paddling. She kept her eyes trained on the water, but all she could see were ripples. Tiny specks of green dotted the surface, making it impossible to make out anything below.

‘What am I supposed to be looking for?’ she whispered, half expecting a giant pike to launch itself at them, but nothing came.

‘Just wait,’ said Ratty. ‘She’s here, I know it. She’s just biding her time—’

Without warning, he jerked forward, almost losing his balance. There was a soft hiss as the two sticks slipped from his grasp and slid under the water. Ratty scrambled backwards, away from the river’s edge.

‘What happened?’ Tanya scanned the river wildly. ‘Did . . . did something pull those sticks out of your hands?’

Ratty nodded silently, then pointed. A row of bubbles popped up beneath the bridge, followed by four small pieces of wood floating away downstream.

‘Is that . . .?’ Tanya began. ‘Were they . . .?’

‘My sticks,’ Ratty finished. ‘In four pieces. Each one bitten in two.’

Tanya swallowed hard. ‘But what could do that?’ By now, she knew it wasn’t a pike or any other kind of fish. The sticks had been too thick for that.

A moment later, she had her answer.

A green figure rose out of the river, looming towards them. Long, matted hair choked with weeds flowed from its bony scalp. Duckweed draped its body like a webbed dress, clinging to a figure that was distinctly female. It reached out with spindly, greedy fingers that snatched wildly at the reeds on the bank, tearing them up by the roots. From its mouth came a terrible, gurgling melody that was strangely haunting.

Tanya shrieked and stumbled backwards, ready to run.

‘Don’t panic,’ said Ratty. His voice was calm. ‘She can’t leave the water. As long as you’re not within grabbing distance, you’re safe. And with the salt and the nail you’re protected from her song – that’s how she lures some people in.’

The creature turned towards them, lowering itself back into the river with only its head and shoulders visible. Its weed-hair rippled across the water and, for the first time, Tanya noticed that there were objects caught in it: drinks cans, sweet wrappers . . . a tiny doll. It opened its mouth – twice as wide as any human mouth – and water gushed in through silver-green teeth that jutted out in thin, spiteful spikes. Its fat tongue sat like a bloated slug. Choked, watery sounds gurgled from its throat, like it was being drowned, and then it vanished, swallowed by the water.

‘And that,’ said Ratty, ‘is the real reason no one should go into the water here.’

It was several seconds before Tanya was able to speak. After stumbling backwards, fear had gripped her and held her to the spot. Oberon had pressed himself into her legs, but she couldn’t tell which of them was shaking more.

‘What . . . who is she . . . it?’ she managed eventually.

‘People call her Nessie Needleteeth,’ said Ratty. ‘Those who’ve heard of her anyway. She’s a bit like the Wishing Tree, a legend, unless you’re able to see her. And most people can’t – or at least not until it’s too late.’ He gave a grim smile. ‘You can see why there’s no tourist information about her, not like the tree. Nessie Needleteeth isn’t something Spinney Wicket wants to be known for.’ He nodded to the undertow sign. ‘Unless you have the sight, it’s easier to blame the water. Not many people really know the truth.’

‘But what
is
she?’ Tanya said again, unable to tear her eyes from the water.

‘A water hag,’ Ratty said. ‘You’ve never heard of a water hag?’

Tanya shook her head.

‘It’s a type of fey creature,’ he explained.

She frowned at the unfamiliar word.

‘Fey,’ he repeated. ‘It means from the fairy world. There are water hags all over the country, some more famous than others. Jenny Greenteeth is probably the most famous, but there’s Peg Powler, too. Nasty pieces of work, both of them. Dragging unsuspecting people under the water to die. Not many escape, but the ones who do can’t usually explain it; it’s nearly always put down to the current and the weeds. But you do get some who can see, even if they don’t understand. Some people say they’re spirits or the ghosts of drowned women.’